“Oh, I quit on Nancy. She took too long.” Pearl spread her sleeping bag on Sidda’s side of the room and stood back, scanning the floor appreciatively.
“So what are you reading?”
Pearl fiddled with one of her red curls. “Just some books with Mable,” she answered hesitantly.
“With Mable?” I asked suspiciously.
“Actually, Mable is very advanced for a baby. She likes all kinds of genres.”
“A baby who says woof?”
Pearl frowned. “She says meow, too, you know.”
I laughed, picturing the look on Mrs. Jones’s face. “So what advanced books are you and Mable reading?” I pressed.
Pearl bit her lip and whispered, “Teddy Bear Goes to the Beach.”
“Pearl, that’s cheating!”
“It is not!” she cried. “They’re real books.”
“For babies!” I retorted.
She slumped on the bed. “You don’t know what it’s like!” Poor Pearl. Driven to baby books by her mother. Just then a car door slammed outside. I jumped.
“Who’s here?” Pearl asked.
Mama and Daddy had taken Ben to an early movie. Sidda was at a friend’s. But it was too early for any of them to be home. I went to the window, half expecting to see the police again. Half hoping for word of Lucas. But it was the Busy Bees, pulling into our driveway in Grandma Rae’s black town car. They passed the house and parked below, just behind the barn. What could they be doing?
My heart pounded. “I’ll be right back,” I told Pearl.
Before the Bee had ended that day, I’d gone out to feed the animals. I’d run into Grandma on her way out, the quilt tucked protectively under her arm. It was the first time she’d taken the quilt home since the Bees had started it.
“Is it done? Can I see it?” I’d asked her.
“Not quite,” she’d said with a shake of her head. “There’s a little something still to do.”
And with that she’d headed outside with the others, where the ladies had whispered among themselves in the driveway. There had been a lengthy discussion, with plenty of pointing to the sky, where a full moon was already visible. It was a pale moon, faded into the blue of the late day. I had wondered what it all meant.
Now they were back in my yard, dressed in brightly patterned skirts, staring up at the twilight. I followed their gaze from the window. There, hanging low above our barn, the full-bellied moon glowed strong.
I busied Pearl with making popcorn while I hurried outside. I stepped off the porch into the evening as the Busy Bees tiptoed past our barn. I followed as they made their way to the trail, holding their skirts up out of the grass as they climbed the hill. Quietly I crept behind: heel, toe, heel, toe. The way my fourth-grade teacher described how Native Americans once moved through the woodlands.
Halfway up the hill the Bees paused in a clearing of pines, and I lowered myself behind a boulder. One by one, they kicked their shoes off, standing barefoot in a half circle.
“Join hands,” sang Grandma Rae. And then it began. Grandma led, dipping and swaying just a little, and the ladies followed, their skirts swooshing around their bare feet. I remembered what Mama said: These girls can conjure up the rain. I pressed myself against the rock, feeling a little like a spy. A gentle breeze stirred around us, and the sky darkened. They moved faster.
The Busy Bees murmured the sacred lines at first, then again, more loudly. The wind picked up, licking at my neck. The circle surged.
Dance in a field to the crickets’ tune,
a full-moon sky in the afternoon.
Louder and louder they chanted, hands swinging, heads raised to the heavens. The dust of the summer rose around them like a smoke cloud. Above us the sky shifted, and clouds tumbled. A hard wind began to blow, rustling the grass, bending the young trees.
I sucked in my breath at the strange scene before me. These were not the old ladies who gathered in my dining room with tired feet and soft voices. They became something else, moving like that on the hill: heads thrown back, holding tight to each other, feet pounding a dusty rhythm. Before me was a tribe.
The air grew sharp and cold, and I ducked my head when something stung my eye. Rain! The ladies spun, a swirling blur of bodies, while the sky rumbled above. It was raining. I turned and ran down the hill, jumping over rocks as the sky opened up above me and the first pelts of rain hit my back.
Our truck was back in the driveway, and Dad, Ben, and Mama were scurrying around in the growing darkness.
“Get the sheets!” Mama hollered, yanking the clothes from the line.
Ben and I rolled the barn doors closed against the slicing rain.
“Run!” I shouted, as we scrambled across the muddy yard.
Inside, we slapped shut windows that had been open all summer and closed doors tightly behind us.
“Where were you?” Pearl demanded as I toweled myself off in the living room.
Ignoring her, I turned to my parents, who were wiping our muddy prints from the doorway. “Did you see them?” I asked Dad, breathless.
“Who?”
“The Bees!”
I pointed toward the barn, but by then the drive was empty, the tire tracks washed clean away.
Fire and Water
Outside the sky flashed, black clouds rolling over our house. When the lights went out, we huddled around the stone fireplace, passing popcorn from lap to lap. Ben fell asleep in Dad’s arms, and Mama stretched out on the blanket beside me.
“Tell me,” she said.
And so I did.
I told her about the bare feet pounding in the dust and the thumping chants, the swirling skirts and the rolling sky. Sidda’s and Pearl’s eyes widened suspiciously in the firelight, but it didn’t matter. Mama nodded, and I knew she believed. When the fire died down, we went to listen to the rain in our beds.
Hours later, I awoke, thunder and lightning flashing outside my window. I peered outside. There, in the dark sky, our barn glowed. Orange and yellow lines, tracing the barn roof, licking the walls. But it wasn’t lightning.
I don’t remember screaming fire, though Daddy said I woke up the whole house. I also don’t remember who called the police, or who ran outside first. I do remember the feeling in my stomach, the wash of heat and pain and fear that filled me up, and the smell of wet grass burning my nose as I ran into the storm.
“Stand back!” yelled Dad as he yanked at the barn door. Through the smoke I saw Snort’s head rearing back, his eyes rolled white. Mama ran in with the fire extinguishers, aiming them at the loft, where the flames grew.
“Get the animals!” I cried.
There was a lot of yelling as we uncoiled the hose and worked the pump, Jax dashing nervously around us. Daddy trotted Snort through the door to Sidda, who shut him safely in the small pen two paddocks away. Pearl appeared with buckets, passing them to Dad, who threw them at the ladder where the flames were climbing down.
When there was a steady stream of water soaking the walls, I went straight to the stalls, hauling cages out of the smoky darkness.
“Franny, get out,” Dad yelled. “You’ll get hurt!”
Someone rushed in behind and grabbed me. It was Mama, and she looped one arm around me and scooped up the mice with the other.
“Hurry!” she cried.
We emptied the first stall, dropping the cages on the wet grass outside. Two boxes of mice, and a baby squirrel. Back in the second stall, Mama grabbed Speed Bump. Behind her, the opossums squeaked in the smoke.
“Stay with me!” Mama yelled, hurrying out. But instead, I raced to the opossums and yanked on their door. The latch was stuck. I yanked again, rattling the whole cage, but it wouldn’t open. The opossums trembled inside.
“Everyone out,” Dad yelled from the doorway. “Now!”
I tried hoisting the cage up onto my shoulder, but it was too heavy. “I’ll be back,” I told the opossums. I covered my mouth and ran for the door, right into Daddy, who’d come for me.
“Daddy,” I screamed. “It’s the opossums; their door is stuck, we have to get them!”
He looked at the barn, at the flames racing up and down its sides, and pulled me outside. “No, Franny, it’s too dangerous.” He coughed.
“We can’t leave them,” I cried, turning to Mama.
The tears on her cheeks glowed eerily in the orange light. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.” Mama pulled me tight, leading me away from the barn, to where Sidda and Pearl sat beside the cages with Jax. “Stay here,” she ordered.
Pearl took my hand, and we huddled together, faces flickering as we watched the flames. Jax whined and wiggled nervously beside us.
“It’s okay, boy,” I said. But I knew it wasn’t. I stared carefully at the barn. The left side was only smoking, as the fire roared largely on the right. There was the side door. I still had time.
“Where are you going?” Pearl asked, as I stood.
“It’s okay, I’m just checking on Snort.” I hurried away, down the side of the hill to where Snort huddled in the far corner of the pen. It was strangely quiet and clear; Snort whinnied nervously. There was no time to comfort him. Once in the safety of the darkness, I turned back, creeping along the fence line, to the barn. As I neared it, I could feel the heat, taste the smoke in the air. There was a sudden crackling noise beside me, a twig breaking on the other side of the fence. I turned, half expecting to see Pearl chasing after me. But there was no one.
Mama and Daddy stood in front of the barn, aiming the hose at the loft. They didn’t see me open the side door and hurry back inside.
The smoke was thicker now, swallowing the stalls, rising into my lungs. Coughing, I dropped to the floor and crawled to the rear stall.
“I’m back,” I called, rushing to the opossums. They were curled together, pressed against the rear of the cage. I couldn’t tell if they were still alive or not. Again, I tried to hoist the large cage onto my shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. I yanked and tugged, dragging it halfway off the hay bale. Above me the barn roared.
“It’s too heavy!” I cried out. But no one was there to hear. No one knew where I was. I pulled again, then again, with all my might. I didn’t have much time. Finally the cage lurched forward, tumbling on top of me, and we landed together in the dirt. The opossums rolled around inside.
I could hear the flames through the beams in the ceiling. They were speaking in tongues, hissing and spluttering. I tried to wiggle out from under the cage, but I was pinned.
The babies will die, I thought. All those lullabies and feedings and checkups. And then it occurred to me: so would I. I closed my eyes and screamed. And then my chest lightened, the cage lifting slowly off of me.
“Franny,” a voice shouted.
In the smoky haze, Lucas was reaching for me, pulling me up. He yanked the cage free and we dashed out of the stall, out of the barn as the roof creaked above us, out into the night, where my mother swept me up and my father cried out in shock. Fire trucks lined our drive, great spirals of water streaming toward the barn. But it was too late. We collapsed under the wet spray and watched the roof cave in before us.
Ashes
Lucas and I caught our breath on the grass, unable to take our eyes off the barn. Mama scurried back into the house to check on Ben, who had slept through all of it. Daddy, finally sure that we were safe, slumped against the fence as the firemen worked. Before us the entire barn glowed orange, the spirals of water from the fire hose toppling the timber with its force.
When Sidda appeared with towels to wipe the smoke and soot from our faces, the spell was broken.
“At least we got everyone out,” Lucas said, turning to face me. He was soaked, his hair plastered against his forehead, mud streaked across his cheeks. He had never looked more handsome.
“You’re back.” I coughed, reaching to touch him to be sure.
But Lucas shook his head. “I’m leaving, Franny. I came back for my mom.”
“Now?” I looked at the burning barn and the trucks lining our driveway. My mind raced.
“My dad’s passed out,” he whispered urgently. “We haven’t got much time.”
“Where will you go?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Stay here. We’ll help you.”
He shook his head. “No one can help with this.”
I felt out of my league. And selfish. Here was Lucas trying to save his mother, and I was worried about the questions I wanted answered. I glanced over my shoulder at Sidda and Pearl, seated behind us on the wet hill.
“Wait, let me get Mama. She’ll know what to do.” I was pleading now.
“There is one thing you can do,” Lucas said, standing up.
I stood with him.
He nodded in the direction of Lindy’s potting shed. “I need your help.”
“Anything!” I cried.
“Go to the shed, tomorrow. You’ll know what to do.”
“What’s in it?” I asked.
Lucas shook his head. “Wait until morning,” he said. “I trust you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said.
I looked at his drenched shirt, his dirty face. And I knew what I had to do.
“Wait here,” I told him. “I have to give you something.”
I raced up to the house, stopping only at my bedroom dresser. I took what I needed from the top drawer before hurrying back outside again. Lucas was at the edge of the yard, already moving toward the cabin. Already moving away.
“Take this,” I said, handing him my coffee can.
He frowned. “I can’t take your Animal Funds, Franny.”
But I pushed it toward him again, and he did not refuse.
“I won’t be able to call you, Franny, or write. Not for a while.”
I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.
“I will, though. Someday I will, I promise.”
I wanted to tell him to be careful, to come back, to promise. But I just nodded like a little girl, tears spilling stupidly down my cheeks.
Lucas took my hand, turning the palm up in his sooty fingers.
I shivered.
“Remember,” he whispered, tracing my palm. And then he leaned in, his lips brushing mine gently at first, then firmly, all the promises and pain of the summer passing between us.
When I finally opened my eyes, he was walking into the darkness.
Taxi
As we sat stunned on the wet hillside, Grandma Rae’s fancy black car rolled in behind the trucks.
“Thank the Lord, thank the Lord,” she wheezed, hurrying from one of us to the next in her robe and bedroom slippers and smothering us in her embrace, even Pearl. Soda-can-size curlers peeked out from under her floral scarf, crushing my cheek as she hugged me once more for good measure. “I heard the sirens and saw the trucks head out this way. When no one answered the phone . . .” She dabbed her eyes and looked away. Then she turned her attention to the rows of cages, the patients huddling inside. Grandma Rae shook her head sadly and pointed to her car. “Load ’em up!” she ordered.
“What?”
“Quick, child, before I change my mind.” Grandma Rae opened the trunk of her town car.
Surely she didn’t mean what I thought she did. “But you hate them,” I reminded her. “They’re dirty, germy, rotten, smelly animals. Wild animals.”
Grandma tilted her head, considering this, and nodded. “Yes, yes, all of that is true. But they are in need. You can keep them in my shed. Not quite as big as your barn, but there’s plenty of shade. Now, come on.” She motioned to the trunk again.
“But they’ll suffocate in there,” I protested.
“Oh, dear, I guess we don’t want that.” She sighed and mopped her brow with a monogrammed hankie. Clearly this was more than Grandma Rae had bargained for, certainly more than those in need required of a person. Even a Christian. “All right, the backseat it is. Just don’t scratch the leather.” Grandma Rae opened the door dram
atically and covered her nose.
“Why, Rae!” Mama exclaimed, her face brightening. “I can’t believe it.”
Grandma cringed as I lowered Speed Bump onto the car seat.
“The Lord will be real proud,” Mama said, squeezing her arm.
“It’s only temporary,” Grandma warned.
When the backseat was fully loaded, Grandma Rae got behind the wheel. She adjusted her rearview mirror so she wouldn’t see the patients. “Lord have mercy. Never thought I’d have rats for passengers,” she muttered.
Ben and I stood outside the car, waving goodbye. He squealed in delight. “Guess what you are, Grandma?” he asked.
“Crazy?”
“No. The Animal Taxi!”
Grandma, pretending not to hear this, blared the horn at the firemen and roared out of the driveway. “Make way, men, I’ve got rats in transport!” she called.
The Bottle
Looking at the smoky remains the next morning left a powerful hole in my heart. When the day broke over the pile of rubble that used to be our barn, the Fire Department began their search. Detective Roy and several others scoured the site. This is what they found: a singed English saddle with the brass nameplate “Shadow,” the wire cage that Mama saved Speed Bump from, and an empty whiskey bottle.
“Know anyone who could’ve been up in your loft?” Detective Roy asked Dad.
“It wasn’t a hay fire, from the heat?”
“No, sir, this time Mother Nature’s innocent,” Detective Roy informed us.
Dad took the bottle, and I followed his gaze as it fell on the cabin. For the first time I noticed the blue truck still parked in the driveway. How could that be?
“They’re still here,” I hollered, forgetting the barn, the bottle in Dad’s hand.
“Who?” Detective Roy stepped forward.
“Lucas and Lindy,” I said, turning to Mama. “They were supposed to run away last night. Something’s wrong!”
“Something is wrong,” Mama said quietly, her brow wrinkling worriedly. She motioned to the barn, the trucks. “All of this going on, and they never came out last night.”
Franny Parker Page 10
